


Philosophical Whiskey

by LelianasSong



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 3, Alcohol, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelianasSong/pseuds/LelianasSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a quiet moment in the Hawke Estate, Rowan Hawke starts to lament on all that she has lost and all that is expected of her. Thankfully, Isabela is there to set her mind at ease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philosophical Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> I have pretty much been neglecting Rowan Hawke and Isabela and I used to write so much Hawkebela stuff, so I thought I would start to write some more again! Anyways, I hope this is good! It's basically just banter... also terrible puns. Blame Rowan, not me. She said the thing!

There is a darkness inside. It threatens to engulf, to capture Rowan’s heart until it felt like little more than a shriveled piece of flesh. There was no joy, not in the emptiness of estate walls or even in the bottom of her glass as its contents emptied and emptied, over and over. She did not know when life had gotten like this. When the weight of a city was upon her shoulders and she felt herself crumble in the isolation of it all.

Yes, she had friends. Yes, she loved them so dearly and would protect them as if they were family, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? How well had she protected her actual family? Her parents? Dead. Carver? Dead. Bethany? Tainted and bitter, forced to fight a battle against the darkspawn and the Blight that she had never wanted. That was the legacy she provided for her protection and as the foundations of Kirkwall rocked her to the core, she could feel her roots grow shakey. No longer was she the pillar of strength and life, the woman with a permanent smirk on her face and a vault of jokes that could go on for days. No, now she was melancholy and thoughtful in her private moments.

Her brain no longer full of wild plans and indulgent desires, instead thought of how her actions enacted consequences. A small push of a stone that later created a landslide. It was impossible. It all felt impossible.

“You’ve been thinking too hard again, Sweetness!” Isabela chuckled, an easy smirk pulling at her lips as she broke Hawke out of her thoughts. “You’ll get wrinkles on your pretty face.”

“You mean, you don’t want me to match with yours? Aren’t we supposed to do that now? Wear matching clothes like all the trendy young lovers do?” Hawke laughed hollowly, the smile on her lips feeling entirely too false for her.

“Wow, that was rude!” Isabela feigned offence. The pirate stood from her seat across from Hawke, where she had spent the evening keeping an eye on her, as per Varric’s request. Not that Isabela minded, she did care for Rowan after all and despite the way she acted sometimes, her earlier confession kind of ruined any protests to the contrary. “You know we’re not like the normal young lovers! And I already checked for wrinkles. Sebastian may harp on when no one listens, but he’s a good mirror.”

“Why? Because you can see yourself in him? Oh but one day, Isabela, you too will get bored and settle into the pious life, with no whiskey, no sex and no beckoning waves and you will think yourself changed and for the better!” Rowan laughed, wrapping her arms around Isabela’s waist as the woman sat on her lap.

“Come off it, Hawke! Could you imagine me? A pious woman! Andraste’s granny-panties, their robes would be itchy and uncomfortable! No one could pay me to wear those!”

“You worship the sea well enough. That’s the mistress you worship and I really couldn’t see you any other way,” Hawke chuckled, nipping casually at Isabela’s collarbone as the woman ran a hand, messing up the warrior’s red hair until it fell messily across her face. “Would you stop that?! Besides, you have to do what makes _you_ happy. You’re not Sebastian, he shouldn’t try to preach ways to better yourself.”

“You’ve gotten philosophical! Since when? Is this what you did when I was away, Hawke? Spent your evenings drinking alone and philosophising your evenings away?”

“Sometimes there were trips to the Blooming Rose. Sometimes hands of Wicked Grace, but maybe I did spend far too long thinking…”

“What does the Champion of Kirkwall think about?”

“Breasts.”

“Mine?”

“No, I was thinking about chicken breasts. I’m hungry.”

“Ha! Your jokes have gone stale, sweet thing!”

“Really? I thought that one was a clucking success?”

“Oh Maker’s balls! STOP!” Isabela laughed, flicking Hawke’s ear as she stole the mug of whiskey in her lover’s hand and downed the rest of the liquid.

Their laughter died down, leaving an uneasy silence. Rowan ducked her head, peering into the bottom of her mug as if doing so would refill it, a fact that was simply not going to happen. So she moved her attention to where her strong hands held onto Isabela, not too tightly, but enough to keep her balanced on her. She had missed this, even though Isabela had been in her life again for two months now, it was hard not to worry that she would once again take sail without her.

It would be a pity. Rowan loved Isabela, more than she ever thought that she could. She understood her, needed her because she knew that Isabela understood her as well. Absently, Hawke ran her olive fingers across Isabela’s cheek, watching the path they took with interest until Isabela took her face between her hands, pressing their bodies together as they kissed. It was slow, sensual and teasing, the taste of whiskey on Isabela’s tongue sending Hawke’s head spinning, yet it was over before it began. Isabela pulled away, almost reluctantly so, before fixing Hawke with a meaningful look.

“You can’t save everyone Hawke. If this city falls arse over tits, you can’t blame yourself. The people here will only have themselves to blame, do you hear me?” Isabela said, her brown eyes piercing definitely into Rowan’s amber ones. “Don’t ask me how I knew what you were thinking about. You’re fun Hawke, but you’re also frustratingly selfless. You may hide behind your sword and your armour but we all know you Hawke. We know that you’ve been beating yourself up over everything every day and it’s not going to stop. What’s the point? You have to fight forward, puns and all!”

“I thought you told me to stop my puns?”

“If your puns stop you from drinking yourself dead and from fighting until you’re a breath from death, then keep them up! You always provide good shits and giggles. Now, are you going to accept that this city is doomed and just let me show you how to have fun again? I’m looking for a trophy lover to sail the seas with me!”

“What about first mate?”

“But you know as much about sailing as you do about Meredith’s arsecheeks!”

“You don’t know how much I know about them!”

“Sweetness, unless you bedded her whilst I was gone, I wager you know fuck all!”

Hawke huffed, smirking at her lover and best friend and shrugging in defeat. It felt good, to sit and laugh like this. It felt like for a moment, the worries from earlier were eased, replaced instead with the old and familiar sensation of cheeks that ached from smiling and a heart and mind that seemed to work without the constraints of the mysterious darkness that seemed as though it had been pushed to the sides.

“Come on Hawke, I’m tired of sitting around! Why don’t you tell me all about Meredith’s arse from the comfort of your bed?”

Rowan laughed once more, nodding as Isabela slid off of her lap and held out a hand for her to take. Smiling, the warrior allowed herself to be pulled up, only to fling her arms around Isabela’s waist the moment that she was upright. She spun her around, laughing as she did so before burying her face in the woman’s neck. There was a silent tenderness as Isabela stroked her hair, the sounds of her chuckles vibrating pleasantly against Rowan until the woman wanted nothing more than to stay in this embrace forever.

“What’s this for, Hawke?” Isabela asked, her voice sounding far away, laced in both confusion and affection, perhaps in equal measures.

“Thank you, Isabela. I love you,” Hawke sighed, kissing Isabela’s neck and smiling against her skin. “I hope you know that?”

“I do. And I…” Isabela paused, before her arms squeezed around Hawke tighter, pulling her closer “I love you too. Now come on before we make a scene.” She finally said, albeit slightly and probably purposefully muffled against Rowan's hair.

“There’s no one here, ‘Bela,” Rowan chuckled.

“No, but you’ll get all sappy on me and I’ve had too much whiskey for that!”

“Sure, sure, of course. Shall we go then?”

“Yes. Oh and Hawke…”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t let yourself get killed, okay? I don’t want to have to listen to Anders talk right now without you there lightening the mood. Please?”

“Alright, alright,” Hawke chuckled, shaking her head. “But only because you asked nicely!”

 


End file.
